Elements
by Sunny1126
Summary: Seven years before the world ended, Daryl Dixon walked away from his life and the one girl who loved him, leaving her to pick up the pieces and figure out how to live without him. As the world falls apart, he's back with one demand. But sometimes, histories are too painful to forget, even in life or death.


_I'm incredibly influenced by music and find it to be my muse on many occasions when I'm writing. I was hugely inspired by the song "Elements" by A Fine Frenzy to write this story and used the lyrics to write several of the moments. I also found myself thinking of the song "Humpty Dumpty" by Aimee Mann as I thought about where my character's head was at. I highly recommend both of those songs. This is a one shot as of now, but I do have ideas in my head of how I could continue it and flesh it out. _

* * *

Thunder cracked outside the walls and I jumped, the coffee mug slipping through my hands and crashing onto the floor to shatter into pieces.

"Shit," I cursed, running my shaky hands over my face. I leaned on the sink, sucking in deep breaths to help my heartbeat return to a normal rate. I was starting to worry that this hyper new rhythm was becoming a normal thing.

The wind whipped outside, flinging leaves into the air, tossing branches across the yard like they were miniscule sticks, bending trees like they were wet noodles. I could hear the house shifting and creaking around me, defiant against the elements but questionable on how long it could hold out.

It would seem that the world was ending. But that was what every one was already starting to whisper to each other, right?

I left the window as a storm brewed, turning my back to the chaos that raged outside. Another flash of lightening, another crack in the sky. This time, I braced myself, ready for it.

The sky was falling down.

Gingerly stepping over the broken pieces of ceramic, I grabbed the broom and began pushing the pieces with my foot into the dust pan.

Luckily the mug had been empty and no coffee left in it. Small consolations. I tossed the pieces into the trashcan and slipped on a pair of shoes, just incase stray glass had escaped the clean up.

The sound at the back door was so faint that I thought it was just a rock hitting it from the outside.

I paused, listening, trying to hear past the storm outside. Was that a knock? Or was that something else? There were all kinds of odd stories going around the news right now and my brain didn't know which path to take.

There it was again, firmer. Two raps on the back door. I was sure this time.

I crossed the kitchen quickly, not taking long in the tiny house. Before I could think about the recent news reports about staying in your home and not answering the door unless you knew who was on the other side, I wrapped my fingers around the doorknob and yanked it open.

The man in front of me had to be a ghost. There was no way that he was here, standing in the chaos outside like a day hadn't passed since he left. Even in this world that seemed to be falling to pieces, it was impossible.

The storm raged and I stood still. The clock behind me ticked in steady rhythm and I stared into cobalt eyes that were studying me, waiting for me to say something.

Waiting. It was something I had stopped doing so long ago.

"Hey."

When Daryl Dixon spoke it was like a familiar song that you haven't heard for years but you knew every word like a day hadn't passed without hearing it. I knew the tone, I knew the cadence. I knew everything there was to know about it.

Of course I knew. I had loved him at some point.

"You were gone," I said flatly, the words flying from my mouth before I could really think about it. I don't know if they were the words he had been expecting or not, but he nodded once, looking down at his worn boots and ripped jeans. His fingers were hitched in the pockets and he pulled one hand out, bringing it to his mouth to chew on a hangnail on his thumb as his gaze pulled up to mine.

I hadn't stepped out of the doorway and clutched the wooden frame so hard my fingers were losing feeling. A gust of wind ripped its way between us and I heard a branch crack off somewhere in the distance.

"Can I come in?" he asked, starting to take a step forward.

"No," I shook my head and said the word so forcefully he stopped in his tracks and took a step back. A look of surprise passed through his eyes. "No. You can't come in."

But I didn't want him to leave either. Or did I? I didn't know. I hadn't seen Daryl in seven years. For a long time I dreamt of this moment when he would show up in my life again with an explanation of where he'd been, why he left and why he thought I would be able to live without him here.

I felt as though I were in that dream after many years of feeling like it wouldn't

happen.

The problem was I had given up on it all a long time ago, giving up to the fact that I would most likely never get an explanation for anything.

Now he was here. But he couldn't come in and he couldn't leave. Not until I could stop my head from spinning.

"Just stay outside," I said, throwing the door open and turning back to the kitchen.

"Are you serious?" he growled. "It's a fuckin' hurricane out here."

"You can't come in," I said again. Maybe it was more to me then to him.

I heard him curse under his breath, but he listened and stayed just on the outside, looking at me around the doorframe and shivering in the spitting rain.

I busied myself in the kitchen, grabbing dishes and pots and pans from the drying rack and sticking them in cabinets. Sometimes they were the right cabinets, sometimes it was where the spices or canned goods went. It didn't matter. I needed something to busy my hands.

I needed anything to stop me from looking at him. I couldn't. Those blue eyes were too deep and there was too much there. It hurt to look.

"Ames," I heard him say, pleading from the doorway. I spun.

"Don't call me that," I commanded unsteadily, trying to make myself sound angry other than scared.

That's what I was: scared. I knew Daryl wouldn't hurt me, at least not physically. No, this was a different kind of scared.

He looked at me firmly through narrowed eyes and I knew exactly what he was saying. He had given me that look so many times.

_Stop bein' like this. Just let me come in. _

There was a time when he would have ignored what I requested. He would have busted through the doorway in an angry rage, yelling at me to stop acting like a brat.

But he didn't, not now. He just stood. And I didn't know why.

Sighing, I gave him a resigned nod and he stepped in without a word, not taking his eyes off me as he closed the door behind him.

He stood in the entryway, tattered button-down shirt wet from the rain, sun- streaked hair plastered to his tanned face.

Daryl hadn't changed a day. On his face there was the same scowl that seemed to be there even when he was happy. He still had the intensity that I used to love. But it was that same intensity that had made him leave.

"What are you doing here?" I finally managed.

"Needed to see if you were OK."

A snort of laughter escaped my lips that even surprised me. It was dripping with bitterness. Scared was quickly turning to angry.

"That's funny. How long's it been?"

"Stop," he growled.

"Stop?" I repeated, slowly. Was he honestly going to reprimand me?

"Ames, would ya just stop bein' pissed off at me for two seconds?" he exploded, kicking at the side table next to the door. I jumped as the lamp tilted precariously, ready to fall before righting itself. This was the Daryl I had always known.

"I told you don't call me Ames," I snapped. He had always been the only one to shorten my name. I had never let anyone else do it. And now I wouldn't let him do it. I wouldn't let him come in here and act like time had stood still when time had just been an agonizing chore since he disappeared from my life.

He closed the distance between us quickly, big strides across the room. I took small steps backward to try and create more distance.

"Will ya just stop?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Stop what, Daryl? What exactly is going on here? You show up on my doorstep in the middle of a storm after being gone for seven years, ask to come in and then want me to be calm and listen to you? Who the hell do you think you are?"

I shoved him then. I shoved him hard, the palms of my hands slamming into his chest. I felt the impact up both of my arms, but I didn't care the pain it caused me. I wanted _him_ to fall, I wanted _him_ to hurt. I was tired of being the only one that had to feel it all.

With that shove, I realized we had been here before. It was déjà vu and almost like time _had _stopped.

I shoved him again, even harder, but he caught my wrists and tightened his grip when I tried to jerk away.

"Let me go!" I yelled, feeling myself lose control but doing nothing to stop it.

His grip tightened, hard, and I jerked to a stop when he brought his face to mine, inches away, so close that I could smell him. Even that hadn't changed.

"Listen," he growled through clenched teeth. "Things are fallin' apart out there, Ames. You know it. Everyone knows it. Somethin' is happening. I need ya to listen to me."

I yanked hard when I felt his grip slightly loosen and freed my hands.

"Get the hell out, Daryl," I hissed, stepping away, rubbing my red-marked wrists.

"Come with me."

That stopped me, froze me in place. My whole body stopped mid step, mid word, mid everything. My mouth hung open in a surprised "O" and I stared back at him as he studied me, chewing on his lower lip.

"What did you say?" I whispered. He took a step toward me and this time I didn't back up. He didn't get in my face but stood in the middle of the kitchen, keeping a few feet of distance between us. He looked at me confidently.

"I said come with me," he repeated. "I'm serious, Ames. Shit's hittin' the fan all over. We gotta get out of here. Pack a bag. My truck's outside."

This was a place we _hadn't _been.

I had wanted to hear those words before but they were never said. And now things were different. Things could never be put back together.

I closed my eyes, shutting out his face, shutting out those blue eyes that at one point could make me do anything, shutting out those arms that had held me on nights where I didn't think I would ever make it, shutting out those lips that had kissed me one moment and then cursed at me the next.

This happened in my dreams. He would always ask me to come with him and leave it all behind to start something new. His eyes were always eager. And I always said yes. Every time.

"No," I whispered. The word, again, tumbled from my mouth before I could think it through. But those were always the truest words.

"What?" he looked genuinely surprised, cocking his head.

"No," I repeated, stronger the second time. "I'm not coming with you."

I didn't care if things were getting weird or bad out there. I wasn't going. I couldn't go.

He kicked the counter, hard, and a small crack split through the wood. Grabbing at the first object he could, which happened to be a tea pot, he hurled it across the room and it smashed against one of the cabinets, small shards traveling in all directions.

"Ames!" he yelled. "Did ya not hear what I said?"

He paced the room, taking steps toward me, then away from me, turning his back from me to walk almost out of the room completely before turning back around and repeating the previous course. He looked like a caged animal ready to attack. And I felt like the small animal caught in the corner. But those small animals sometimes fight back.

"Daryl, seven years ago I would have followed you anywhere you wanted to go, no questions asked. I waited every day for you to ask me. Every god damn day I waited for you to make the call and tell me to come on, we were getting out of this shit hole. But you never did. Instead you just walked away and left me here by myself. For years I didn't even know if you were alive. But guess what? I stopped caring a long time ago when I realized that you weren't coming back, that you didn't give a _fuck _about what happened to me. So no, I'm not going with you because those days are gone."

"You're just being fuckin' stubborn like ya always were," Daryl spat at me. I shook my head.

"No, I'm not. I don't _trust _you to not turn your back on me again. You had your chance Daryl and you blew it. I'm not going anywhere with you."

"Ames, listen to me," desperation was on the edge of his voice.

"You can't fix me, Daryl. You can't change what you broke in me with one visit. I've spent seven years cleaning up this mess that you made of my life and it's not going to be that simple."

"There _isn't_ time, Amelia. This is it. Things are falling apart, things are ending. If you don't get in that truck with me right now, I'll leave yer ass and you'll die."

Maybe he was right. He probably was. I knew how bad things were getting. Everyone knew how bad things were getting. The rumors of what was happening in the cities were things made from nightmares.

But that didn't change the fact that I couldn't go with him. And I knew Daryl wouldn't wait around for me to come to terms with it all.

Crossing my arms I glared across the space to Daryl, a body of coiled muscles who looked like he was ready to explode at any second. He just wasn't sure which way to explode.

No matter how raging the storm outside blew, no matter what horrors awaited me in the days to come, there was nothing more terrifying than giving in to something that would do so much more damage to me, something that had _already_ done so much damage to me.

That was what I couldn't face.

"Just go."

"I'm not gonna ask again," he point out. The words were quiet but screamed louder than anything because I knew he wasn't lying.

I sighed and gave him a shrug, shaking my head.

"Then don't ask. Just go."

Daryl was a man of his word. He didn't ask. He didn't plead or beg or call me a dumb bitch. Instead, he turned without another word, throwing the door open to the storm outside and disappearing into the rain that was now falling in sheets.

I heard the old truck roar to life and listened until it was drowned out by the elements taking over the world. Just a few moments ago the storm had seemed terrifying. But not anymore.

Seven years ago I thought was the last time I would see Daryl Dixon.

I was wrong.


End file.
